


Her Heart, an Inferno

by ElyzaAlexander



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anya also has a crush, Anya doesnt die, Anya refuses to have an emotion, Clanya, F/F, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElyzaAlexander/pseuds/ElyzaAlexander
Summary: Anya thinks about her relationship with Clarke since the sky people landed (s2e4 fix it)orAnya has a big fat gay crush on Clarke and doesn't realize it, gets shot and thinks she's totally dead but, Clarke obviously saves her and yells at the stupid skyrats for almost killing their one chance at peace.
Relationships: Anya/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	Her Heart, an Inferno

Clarke came down to earth in a blaze, lighting up the forest around her and flattening the earth under her dropship, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake. 

Clarke, with hair the colour of sand that seemed to flow like any calm river, smooth, silky and wavy. So beautiful, it was almost annoying. When Anya had first met Clarke, she had to admit when that blonde hair caught in the sun, the grounder became distracted. Golden hair was rare, more common around Azgeda where snow freezed hearts and raised ruthless warriors. Yet, this skai girl was nothing like the chill of snowstorms. She was absolutely scorching hot, and Anya quickly realized there was a reason why Clarke came down in an inferno. 

The meeting on the bridge was nothing short of disastrous. It seemed so long ago after all that had happened, but Anya, from time to time, still mulled over it. The furs that covered her at night only protected her from the weather after all, not from thoughts of wars she hadn’t won. There was a part of her that knew it was ridiculous, worrying over past events that hasn't gone the way she desired. She justified it as training. A good warrior acknowledges their mistakes and improves for next time. She had lost at least 8 shooters in the trees that day, an insignificant number compared to the list of innocents skaikru continued to slaughter as time went on. Before the shooting had begun and Anya was forced to retreat with a bullet wound and bruised ego, she had met her. Clarke, with the fiery eyes and soapy smell and sickly sweet smile. Her first words to her, “Your names Clarke?... I’m Anya.”

And from that moment on, the grounder’s life slowly spun out of control. 

First, it was that damned bridge meeting. Then, it was Tris and her death… Her second’s blood on Clarke’s hands. She had trusted the healer, although as stupid and desperate that decision was, and Clarke had made a fool of that trust. Shredded it and stomped on it like branches under her feet. With Tris’ death, another piece of Anya’s heart broke off and burned up like paper in fire, disintegrating into ashes. When she watched the smoke from Tris’ pyre float into the sky, she had sworn to destroy the leader of the sky people, watch the light from those blue eyes fade just as she had seen in Tris’… But, it wasn’t that easy. Nothing with Clarke was. She had escaped with the help of the damn traitor and a floppy haired boy who clearly had taken a liking to his leader, and Anya was left looking like a branwoda for the 3rd time in a row. 

The battle between her 300 warriors and the sky people was violent. Her rage blinded her through attacks, and despite the odd technology that the enemy possessed, the grounder managed to get into the metal contraption, swords out. She had wanted to kill their leader girl then, but she was outnumbered and beaten, before being taken prisoner into the mountain and tortured for her blood. 

Mistakes. Mistakes. Mistakes. They plagued her at night, seeping into her mind and floating around in her head until she wanted to scream, tear at her own hair as if the memories, guilt, and broken pride would leave with the clumps of braids she tugged and tangled in her scarred fingers. It would seem that no matter how many mistakes she worried over and swore to never do again, the sky people fucked it all up and created something new for Anya to plague herself over. It didn’t help that the one person to come to her rescue was the very person she had sworn to rip apart. Blood must have blood. Clarke’s blood for her burned village. Clarke’s blood for her warrior’s, every single one. Clarke’s blood for Tris. During her time in the cages, she had supposed it was Clarke’s blood for the rest of her people in the cages too. The girl had morphed into just another Mountain man with her stupid guns, clean hair, and entitled attitude. Not to mention, she reeked. Clarke was just another enemy for so long, that when she had showed up right in front of her, promising Anya that she would help her out of her prison and keep her safe, the warrior was sure that it wasn’t Clarke at all. An imposter. It made sense, in her state of weakness after a particularly long draining. 

Obviously, it didn’t take her long to come to her senses and realize the blonde who had her arm wrapped firmly around her bandaged waist was the same blonde who breathed lies and fire. It was terrifying to hear how kind Clarke’s voice could be when she was urging her out the mountain’s mouth, how Anya’s rage threatened to fade away just with a soft tone and gentle touch. It must have been the sleep deprivation and blood loss that had caused the malfunction and Anya absolutely refused to be swayed. She was a warrior. Her first second had become Heda, and she would go soft for some silly sky girl just because she had ‘helped’ her escape? No. Anya wasn’t stupid. She had seen right through Clarke, her true intentions were not honourable at all. She needed Anya for her own reasons. 

She had thought of that when she smashed that rock into the skaikru’s forehead. It felt good, cathartic even. Yet, it did nothing to stop the sinking feeling that was slowly growing inside her chest since the meeting on the bridge, awfully uncomfortable. The feeling was almost as annoying as Clarke herself was, so during the time when Anya held Clarke captive and then they switched positions, followed by that battle at the dropship where her army’s ashes blended with dirt, she reveried about being far far away from whatever the sky people’s leader was. 

They both had fought hard during that fight. In truth, it had both shocked and impressed Anya how well Clarke did. Of course, she was injured and tired but, she had been in much worse conditions and prevailed in 1 on 1 combat. For all that it was worth, Clarke was a healer, a leader, and a blossoming warrior. Something about that made Anya’s mouth twitch despite the blood oozing out from between her lips. She was sure that her fight was over, positive that her opponent was going to glide the knife through her sternum like she was willing to do so to Clarke only moments ago, yet the mud caked sky girl did anything but. 

Sedation still forced her eyes to droop, her body a limp mess on the ground from the punches and sheer acceptance of death, yet her voice was solid and steady. She could hear her own smile sneak into her tone, painting it with the pride that was beginning to bubble in her chest where a knife was supposed to be. “You fought well.” 

Something changed between them then and Anya didn’t really understand what it was. There was still that feeling deep in her chest and her stomach. It had slammed at her ribs more than ever before, especially when they walked and Clarke’s arm would brush against hers or the smaller girl would look up at her with a quick smile, reassuring as they got closer to ‘Camp Jaha’. For that walk towards the sky people’s base, she allowed herself to entertain the idea of peace between the two peoples. No matter how annoying the golden haired girl was, Anya now saw that she did want peace, even if it was for her own selfish reasons. Death consumed her at night, every mistake carving away at her bones until she was left shivering and bare. War had done that. No matter how much Anya enjoyed the rush of a fight and watching her enemies bleed, she felt for her people. The warrior hadn’t cried in years, but when she landed in a pile of living corpses back in the tunnel, she felt tears well up in her eyes. After so long, she refused to let them fall, in case she let one free and forgot how to make them stop. 

“To beat them we’ll need our technology and your knowledge of this world. I know my people will help. The question is… Will yours?” Clarke had said, cutting her free from her ties. Honestly, Anya had forgotten they were there.

Could an alliance between the 12 clans and the sky people forge something strong enough to defeat the mountain, the monster that loomed over them all, waiting for more victims?

“The commander was my second. I can get an audience.”

It was worth an attempt at the very least, Anya decided. Their arms clasped, and Anya found that weight back on her chest. This time, she let it flutter there, testing it and trying to decipher what it was exactly. She continued to mull over thoughts of Clarke as she stumbled away, back into the trees. They weren’t touching anymore, but Anya could still feel where the blonde’s thumb had brushed her elbow, sticking to her like syrup, sickly sweet and stubborn. 

But then, a shot rang out and a searing pain in her shoulder jolted her forward before she even had time to duck and cover.

**Author's Note:**

> Ya, I dont proof read... I am sorry.
> 
> Honestly, this is a practice fic because I am planning a much longer multi chapter clexa role reversal AU and I need to get back into the writing mood. Have fun suffering


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